Chain of Command
by Tom Tomorrow
Summary: This job is sucking the life out of him. There are people at every turn trying to highlight his mediocrity. He thinks he can hold out until he finds away out of this cloud of superiority complex. But then again that aura of superiority is only part of the chain of command. Tony finds out some uncomfortable truths in the world he works in and what it means for his future.
1. Chapter 1

Chain of Command

Tony sees much more than he lets on.

It is easy to see witness the happenings of the squad room from behind his desk.

Even easier to witness the happenings of the quadrant in which his team resides.

Years in the profession had allowed Tony to block out all of the noise - the clinking of coffee cups on the desks, the fluttering of papers, the shuffling of feet, the ringing telephones, the murmuring of voices - block out all of those noises and focus on the visual aspect.

Honing that skill had made him better as a cop and had made him a skilled as an agent in the NCIS.

Allowing him to notice the little things that people often missed.

To notice the little things that people often didn't think to consider.

But Tony sees it all.

Sees it. Records it. Catalogues it for later.

And as long as he fulfills the role of the 'Not Serious Funny Guy', he can get away with seeing a lot.

Because when he cracks his jokes, people tend to forget that he holds a position of authority.

Tend to forget that he didn't just flooze his way into this job.

Tend to forget he worked just as hard and just as long, if not more, than anyone else.

He doesn't remember how he allowed himself to get typecast.

Because in a way it's easier.

It's simpler.

Simpler because no one takes him too seriously.

And that makes it easier. To see. Record. Catalogue for later.

But in a different way it hurts.

That people will try and dust his accomplishments under the rug.

That people will only see him as that 'Not Serious Funny Guy'

That people will, in fact, not notice.

The label has begun to simmer within him over the years.

Reached a boiling point in the recent weeks.

Because anytime he tries to shed that horrible label, no one takes him seriously.

So he feels like he has to work harder, longer hours to feel like he's worth something.

Not just another agent with a quota to fill.

And as the bitterness takes stabs at his heart, Tony wonders when he started feeling this way.

When he really started feeling this way.

Because he had first felt the supercilious attitudes of the workplace years ago.

People at every turn trying to highlight his mediocrity.

It just didn't really bother him until now.

Now it's sucking the life out of him.

And though the brown-haired agent toys with the idea of quitting, something within him thinks thinks that he can hold this out.

Thinks he can hold out until he finds away out of this cloud of superiority complex.

Even his boss is guilty of it.

But then again, Tony supposes, that aura of superiority is only part of the chain of command.  
.. … p… p… …

His self doubt is eating him alive when he sees Gibbs pull Bishop away from her desk one late night.

Hears him tell her to come with him.

Away from the quadrant.

Up the stairs.

And when Tony looks to the second floor balcony he sees Director Leon Vance and all of his superiority looking down at them.

And the three of them disappear into MTAC, one of the most secure rooms in the building.

Tony knew what that meant. All too well.

An undercover operation.

In his younger years, he had been the Golden Boy of undercover ops.

Fluent in Spanish and French.

Full of good looks and charisma.

Even Gibbs had given him a rare compliment for his success.

But at some point along the line, he had aged out.

And he figured it was only a matter of time before they turned to her.

A former treasure of the NSA with a long list of high profile accomplishments.

She was a walking resume of success and she'd barely cracked thirty.

Combine that with the hastened transition of desk job to field work and her excessive innate need to find validation…

Yeah. It was only a matter of time before the chain of command found another resource to abuse.

They'd done the same thing with McGee and his MIT degree.

An uneasy sensation of nervousness flitters through him as looks at the firmly shut doors the trio had disappeared behind.

He doesn't know what's bothering him so much.

The strange sensation doesn't go away.

.. … p… p… …

Gibbs and Bishop return almost an hour after they entered MTAC.

Bishop with a thick manila folder and a flip drive gripped so tightly, Tony swears he can see her white knuckles from half way across the room.

The former NSA analyst doesn't say a word as she slides past them.

Instead she ducks her head like a child waiting to be scolded and carefully avoids both his and McGee's questioning gazes.

A few moments pass before Gibbs follows behind her with the same perfectly stoic, indifferent look that he's perfected over the years, returning to his desk with the familiar aura of bravado.

When it becomes clear that neither are going to say anything, Tony takes it upon himself to break the silence.

"So what's the case, Boss?"

"There is no case, Dinozzo. Get back to work."

That short, clipped response practically insults his intelligence.

They can both clearly see the thick manila folder that neither individual handled with much discretion.

So those gestures all but confirm it. Undercover.

The tightlipped behavior from both only foster his curiosity.

And Tony's not going to let it go that easily.

He averts his gaze back towards the blonde who hasn't yet opened the file in front of her, but somehow can't seem to tear her gaze away from it.

And the second the grey haired superior officer leaves his desk and disappears out of sight, he raises a brow expectantly in her direction.

But the blonde is too absorbed in whatever information that manila file must hold, that she doesn't respond until he physically says her name.

"It's classified, Tony."

She says it with her usual bravado, but Tony thinks he hears a slight undertone of nervousness mixed in with the confidence and excitement that the younger agent exudes.

It doesn't help that she's biting her lip, the same nervous tic she's had ever since Tony'd met her.

He still can't shake of the uneasy sensation.

Bishop's done plenty of undercover cases before. She knows her stuff.

He doesn't know why he would be particularly concerned about this one.

Because it takes the focus of your own problems, his consciousness practically yells at him.

He ignores it.

"Come on Bish. Tim and I are going to be backing you up anyway. We'll know the details soon enough."

The Oklahoma-born blonde is already shaking her head, eyes still on the folder, before he can even finish his sentence.

"You guys…"

She seems to be choosing her words carefully.

"You guys aren't my backup."

Tony almost scoffs aloud.

There was no plausible circumstance in which the head of any governmental organization was going to send a probationary agent with only two years of experience undercover without a team.

"It's a, ah, a joint case. The other organization is providing back up."

There it is again. Bishop never stumbles on her words.

But what she says throws him to much to focus on that.

A joint case? With no one on this team as backup?

Gibbs, as uptight and rigid as he was, was never one to let his team out of his control.

Which either meant that Vance had pushed the matter or the case was something far more serious than he'd originally thought.

Either way was considerably sobering.

Especially since it didn't seem that Ellie had any choice in the matter.

"When?"

An extended pause.

"Day after tomorrow."

"How long?"

"I don't know."

That reeks of deceitfulness.

"Ellie… You agreed to this?"

For the first time since he initiated the conversation, she looks at him.

Jaw set in determination.

Tony just knows she's going to give him some form of justification.

"Vance said he needed an agent that had experience with foreign affairs."

An uncomfortable silence follows.

They both know that her response isn't a real answer.

But her response does give him the answer to one thing.

The answer to why he hasn't quit.

He can't stand to see someone else go down that path.

That night would be the last he would hear from Bishop for two weeks.

… … … …

That desk has a habit of being perpetually empty.

A revolving door of sorts.

Kate, Ziva, and now Bishop.

She'd been gone for fifteen days.

And the desk has been empty for just as long.

Tim seems confused when he arrives at work each morning to the empty space, but he doesn't mention anything.

Too worried about what might happen if he does.

Gibbs stays tightlipped. Acts as if she never existed.

Yet, in true Gibbs fashion, he refused to hire anyone, even a temporary agent.

So the caseload is piled onto him because the city never sleeps and crime doesn't either.

More paperwork. More fieldwork. Same deadlines. Much, much longer hours.

And what is left of the team begins to fray at the edges.

Tony wouldn't have blamed them, lack of sleep does that to people.

Except that they turn on him.

Making snappy snide remarks.

Trying to drudge up his presumed mediocrity.

While over exaggerating their own eminence.

And he takes it because that's what he's supposed to do.

What he's expected to do.

Day after day after day.

He finally pulls himself from the office at half past two.

Forces himself to go home because he'll have to do all of this again in the morning.

With nothing but thanklessness in return.

The brown haired agent takes the long way.

Not wanting to resign himself to solitude just yet.

But then home becomes inevitable and half an hour later he's pulling into his driveway.

The crisp autumn air cuts into him as he steps out of his car, but that isn't what makes his hackles rise.

Someone else is here.

Tony thought back to his drive home and dimly remembered something feeling out of place.

Something strange.

But he'd been too tired to attribute it to anything other than lack of sleep.

Had someone been following him?

The brown-haired agent feels the familiarity of his service weapon as he steps out of his garage.

This line of work tended to do that to a person, fill them with paranoia.

His eyes swept over the lawn and the driveway, but nothing was out of place.

Tony considered turning away, heading up to bed. It was almost three in the morning.

He was tired.

And he'd been doing this long enough to know that it was probably just in his mind.

Still, the not knowing bothered him and he gives it one more shot.

Rounds the corner to check his porch.

And it wasn't until he stepped further into the yard, further away from the light and comfort of his garage that he saw what was there.

A figure sitting on the steps.

A familiar figure.

"Bishop?"

Her eyes snap open and she instantly stands to face him.

The blonde looks surprised to see him, considering she's been sitting on his doorstep for God knows how long.

"Hi."

He waits for an explanation, for anything, but Bishop doesn't say anything else.

"Bishop. What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry. I… I didn't mean to bother you."

Again he waits for some clarification, something that would explain why she's on his porch at three in the morning.

Tony looks her over. She was fidgeting with a loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater, purposely avoiding his eyes. And other than the dark circles under her eyes, nothing seemed obviously wrong.

Other than the fact that she was jumpy as hell.

"No… no. You're not bothering me. It's just… Is everything okay?"

Bishop looked away from him out into the road, illuminated by that little pool of light that struggles to leave the flickering streetlamp, probably trying to figure out the least incriminating thing to say.

And Tony can tell by the rigidness in which she stands, the tension in her shoulders, that she's having an internal battle of which one to choose.

"Bishop, you don't have to tell me anything about the case. Just let me know. Are you okay?"

He puts the extra emphasis on 'you' in his question.

The blonde slumps a little as she resigns herself.

"They're throwing to much stuff in the air, Tony. Vance wants answers, the mark wants loyalty, the heads want accountability. Everyone is breathing down my neck waiting for me to break a cipher that doesn't have a break. The mark… I can't get them without being too suspicious. And… And…"

She starts speaking faster, trying to get it over with, but nothing she's saying is making sense.

So he stops her.

"I didn't ask about the case. I asked about you. Are you okay?"

The silence settles again and her anxiety backs up minutely, shame slowly taking its place.

It was odd that he'd never seen that emotion take place on her before.

"I can't sleep."

She says it so softly that the words almost slip into the dark before he can catch them.

Acid bile rises in his throat as his heart sinks.

"Ellie… You know it's okay to back up a little. No one's going to think any less of you for it."

Almost instantly her guard is back up. The shame hides behind the wall of misplaced determination.

"No! I can do it! They need me to do it."

Of course they do.

Tony swallows hard.

Remembers the pressure that Gibbs was putting on her during the Parsa case.

"Ellie…"

She doesn't give him a chance to continue.

"You told me you've done this before. That you were good at this?"

The blonde is fidgeting again. If there was ever a poster child for nervous energy…

"Yeah, but…"

All of sudden she goes still.

"How close is to close?"

Tony stiffens. The coolness of the air slices against him as he takes in what he just heard.

"What?"

His response has more bite to it than what's probably good for this situation.

And he can see Bishop mentally backtracking on what she said.

"It's just… He wants… Never mind."

Bishop hastily checks her watch

"I have somewhere to be."

At three in the morning?

Shit.

She's practically leaning away from him and towards the darkness.

Tony inwardly sighs.

As long as they make her think she's obligated, she's never going to stop trying to do her job.

"Look. If you ever need someone to talk to, just come to me. But don't hang outside on the porch, just ring the doorbell okay? I'm usually here."

Bishop gives him a jerky nod.

Tony can't tell if she's just nodding to appease him.

But then she's gone.

And he's alone on the doorstep again.

… … … …

He man's up enough to send in a resume.

Asking for a reassignment.

Tony can't sit in this goddamn office under Gibbs's thumb.

The extra casework is making him stay longer and longer hours. Far into the night.

McGee gets off easier because he has a family to go too. A home to come back to.

Tony doesn't have anything or anyone waiting for him.

And everyone in the office knows that.

The cases progressively become harder and harder to solve and put away.

Whether it's due to sleep deprivation or actual complexity, he doesn't know.

Regardless, Tony can practically feel the disappointment dripping off the grey haired marine each time a road block comes up.

And it's always about something that could not have possibly been avoided.

Nothing that Tony does can please the man.

That much time with someone who seemingly despised him could not be good for anyone.

He mentions Bishop's reappearance to Gibbs, albeit leaving out some details not wanting to get her in trouble.

Tries to pry some details about the case she's involved in. Nothing.

And when Tony goes to Vance, the dark-skinned director tells the younger agent to very blatantly leave it alone.

Bishop doesn't come back either.

He doesn't know what he was expecting.

The blonde was undercover after all.

But he was worried about the way things were left that night.

What happened just leaves more questions than answers.

Tony locks the door of his house behind him.

1:30 am.

Without switching on the lights, he sets the thick case file he'd brought home on the kitchen table in front of him.

Stares at it for a long moment.

And now that he's completely alone with his thoughts in the silence, it hits him.

Gibbs' sharp retorts, Abby's smug replies, Vance's blatant secrecy, McGees ' see-no-evil, say-no-evil' attitude.

All of it resounds his ears, hitting him hard.

Mingling, gradually smothering and sweeping, his heart and head with the other imperfections and mediocrities that had been thrown at him over the years.

Because even those little things hadn't lost their ability to hurt him.

He was so tired. Tired all of this. Tired of the worthlessness. Tired of not being in control.

Tony throws the file across the room. Sending it in a noisy flutter.

Papers and pictures fly disarray, but he doesn't care.

He slowly leans forward on the table and rested his head against his hands.

Stares at the wood and all its little indentations as the mask he had carefully worn all through the day started to crumble, letting pain and anger slip through the cracks.

-.-.-.-.

It is exactly seventeen days since her last visit before he hears from Bishop again.

He'd gone to bed three hours before and his body is screaming at him that it isn't nearly enough, when he pulls himself out of bed for some water.

The brown-haired agent isn't exactly sure what woke him up this time.

Though admittedly he had been getting less and less sleep in the recent weeks.

Thinking, debating, arguing with himself about what he planned to do with his life.

Tony shuffles on the cold floor towards the kitchen.

Checks the screen window to his front porch out of habit.

No.

It was empty. Really empty.

So he fills himself a glass of water and tries to divert his mind to a different topic.

It's only when he's on the way back to bed, that he sees the front porch from a different vantage point, that he sees her.

From this view he can only see her from the back, sitting hunched in the corner, legs folded up, hands shoved underneath her arms.

He lets out a breath.

Unsure if he should be grateful or worried that she finally showed up.

The screen door opens with a creak.

It sounds like a scream in the silence.

Bishop doesn't even twitch.

Tony clears his throat.

"It's been awhile."

Silence.

"Didn't I say you could ring the doorbell?"

Still nothing.

Bishop isn't jumpy this time. Instead… she's tense.

Tony could cut it with a knife.

He sits down on the stairs across from her because he can tell it's going to be a long night.

Another five minutes pass in silence.

"Look, we could stay out here all night probie, but inside's probably more comfortable."

The former NSA analyst agent gives a jerky, cut off shake of refusal.

So they sit for a minute more, until Bishop finally finds her voice.

"I… found a break …"

Her voice is hoarse. A lot rougher than it usually sounds.

Both hands tucked under her arms, she still refuses to look at him.

That makes his brow crinkle in confusion.

"That's good, right?"

The younger agent simultaneously shakes her head no and shrugs her shoulders.

Then she finally looks at him, and under the dim moonlight he sees the far-away, glassy look to her eyes.

"I found a break…"

He's seen that look before. Shock, trauma, despair.

"I had to get close to get it."

Close.

Bishop doesn't give him enough time to wonder.

She slowly unfurls her left arm, extend it away from her body, and even under the dim moon light he can see it.

Bruises.

Colored, blue and red and green and yellow.

Overlapping each other in that way that makes it easy to make out all the colors and none of them at the same time.

Disappearing up into her long-sleeved sweater, where they surely continue on.

Tony stares in horrified disbelief.

But when he reaches forward to examine the injuries, she pulls away. Averts her eyes.

"Bishop… what happened?"

He hastily backtracks when he sees the walls going back up.

"Have you… Have you talked to anyone about this?"

"I didn't get all of it."

That's not an answer. She knows that's not an answer!

So he waits.

"I got a break in the case, but I didn't get all of it… They said I'm too valuable to be extracted."

A slight pause.

"It would be too suspicious…"

Anger and disbelief swells up within him.

That was insane!

Behavior like that broke more that a few regulations, both federal and occupational.

Which meant that the people over her case had to be one of the bigger governmental organizations.

So high up on their own high horses, that they didn't give a shit on who they crapped on.

"It doesn't feel as bad as it looks."

There she is again with the faux justifications.

"Don't say it. Don't you dare try to justify it."

Bishop looks like she's about to cry and he wants to find whoever's making her do this and shoot them.

Furious at them for putting her through this.

But the fight goes out of him because she sounds so tired. Looks so tired.

Just like he is.

This job isn't good for either of them.

"We don't have to stay out here Ellie."

The circles under her eyes speak for themselves.

Again, she shakes her head.

"I can't. They'll get suspicious if I'm out of contact for too long."

So the silence falls upon on them. An uncomfortable, strained one.

He stares at her bruises and she stares into the dark.

"You can't keep getting hurt like this, Bishop."

It is much easier to say that to someone else than it is to say it to himself.

He's been saying it to himself for years.

Bishop hugs herself tighter.

Whether that's a sign of acknowledgment or not he doesn't know.

Then she silently pulls herself up.

"Thank you, Tony."

He nods.

"Anytime."

He watches her disappear into the darkness.

Tony doesn't miss the limp in her gait.

… …..

Four days later, two men in suits step out of the elevator.

Though their professional attire isn't odd, both of the individuals seem distinctly out of place.

So he tracks them silently with his eyes as they make their way across the bullpen, over to Gibbs's desk.

"My name's Andrew Kramer. This is my colleague Justin Cena. We work for the Central Intelligence Agency."

Both of them flash some variation of identification and Tony sits up straighter in his chair.

"There was an incident involving one of your agents, we need both heads of the joint staff to be present. The CIA's case operation leader, David Elsevier is already present."

Horror and disgust sweeps up over him.

Did that mean Gibbs had been on the case the entire time?

He goes with them to the hospital. Refuses to stay behind and be a butt monkey.

He's silent the whole way there.

Simmering.

Praying that she was going to be fine.

He does the whole nine yards.

Frets in the waiting room.

Listens to the doctor read the medical report.

Waits some more.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

An email.

Your application is pending in review.

And when they are finally let into the hospital room, he sits in the sole visitor chair, glowering at the people who he used to call his team.

Abby, Gibbs, and Andrew Kramer stand behind him. They all have the audacity to look concerned.

When neither of them bothered to mention her name for well over a month. And the latter being indirectly responsible for the current state of affairs.

He cuts Tim some slack. Tony wants to be angry at him, but he had a family to take care of.

So he can't angry at him. Though it doesn't mean he understands.

But them. There's no excuse.

Elsevier sits outside filling out paper work.

No doubt to cleanse his hands of whatever events took place.

His hatred for Vance equates to something even more unfathomable.

The director didn't even bother to show up to the hospital.

Citing schedule conflicts.

Bastard.

Tony forced himself to turn back to Bishop.

Her current state was a far cry from the former NSA analyst that had become a staple in the office as she sat cross-legged on the floor, with her attention fixed on her computer and ear buds dangling from her ears, often exuding enough exuberance for the entirety of the workforce

Two separate IV drips fed fluids and nutrients into her body, but it didn't seem to be doing anything despite what the nurses were saying.

She was breathing steadily, a sign that her ribs were healing, but even that bit of good news hadn't been satisfying.

Now she looked like a ghost.

They had used her, abused her, sucked her dry.

All he'd gotten from Andrew was that the mark had gotten too handsy.

Then gotten too nosey.

Then had found out that she'd had ties with the government.

And the aftermath of that revelation clearly hadn't gone to well.

And during each of those moments, not one of them thought to pull Bishop back from the case.

It was unfathomable.

"There is a bit of good news."

Andrew mentions over the steady beeps of the hospital machines.

"She did break the cipher. We have the information we need to put-"

Tony cuts him off with a hard punch to the face.

Pain ripples across his knuckles, but it feels minimal compared to the feeling of satisfaction hit gives him.

"Tony!"

Gibbs barks while Abby squeals in surprise.

And right then every quelled emotion, every time he was forced to keep his thoughts to himself, every time he was forced to roll over and let the insults hit his back.

Every time someone tried to point out his mediocrity.

Tried to shunt him off to the side.

Tried to brush of anything he said as dismissive.

It all rose within him right there.

"What?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He looked between the three of them.

At Gibbs and his look of disappointment and disdain.

At Abby's smugness as she waited for Gibbs to reprimand him.

At Andrew Kramer's look of shock as he cradled his jaw.

He looked at all of them.

"I quit."

And when he turns back to his unconscious friend on the hospital bed, it feels like a weight has been lifted.


	2. Chapter 2

"You can't just quit, Tony!"

It's Abby.

Of course, it's Abby.

Of course she has the audacity to tell him what he can't do.

As if she doesn't think that anything, _anything,_ that's happened in the years she's known him has been piling up on him.

Doesn't think _any_ of that warrants any sympathy.

And that, maybe just maybe, this had been the straw that finally broke his back.

You can't just quit, she had said.

She means something else entirely.

 _She means for him to roll over and take it._

 _Take it like a man, you should be used to this by now._

His fists clench in his jacket pockets.

It's always Abby.

He doesn't think the Goth girl had ever meant to hurt him on purpose.

Not until recently.

The forensic scientist had always had tunnel vision.

Only ever had eyes for Gibbs, who'd in turn, always treated her like the golden child.

God forbid you ever got on her wrong side.

Because anything that didn't fit into her own little narrative was immediately incorrect, stupid, or malicious in intent.

And as long as the grey haired marine was on her side, she'd get away with anything.

Because Tony had never been able to tell her off without poking the angry bear.

The brunette has half a mind to ignore her.

Ignore them all.

Because like Gibbs, Abby can't handle being on the losing side of any argument.

And he already knows who the team leader will choose to defend.

Tony looks down at Bishop.

Looks hard at the bandages.

Looks hard at the bruises.

Imagines the scars that are hidden beneath them.

Both physical and mental.

Tries to wrap his mind around how many screw ups that had to have happened for this to occur.

Tries to wrap his mind around how many people that had to have looked the other way.

How important this fucking information had to have been for them to allow this to happen.

For it to get this far.

Anger swells up in his chest.

And Tony decides that he's had enough of swallowing his pride.

He can't stifle his words in a box and throw away the key.

Because staying quiet obviously hadn't worked in the past.

His silence won't protect him. It won't protect Bishop.

Not anymore.

"You don't even realize what you've done have you?"

None of them answer.

Of course they don't.

That would mean admitting they'd done something wrong.

And they never do anything wrong.

Only do the _questionable_ under the flimsy guise of the greater good.

Then sweep even that under the rug when things went awry.

First hand experience had taught him that.

It was a horrible thing to learn.

He draws in a breath.

Deep and slow.

The smell of antiseptics and adhesive infiltrate his senses.

Reminds him of where he is.

He lets go of the air.

Even slower.

It does nothing to ebb the anger. The disbelief.

The brunette can feel both bubbling within him.

"How long did it take?"

He surprises himself with the ability to keep his tone even.

He doesn't surprise himself with his inability to keep the anger out.

There's a beat of silence.

The tension in the air thickens with its length.

Tony can almost see Abby looking up to Gibbs.

Wondering. Waiting to see what he does. Waiting to take her cues from him.

He can practically feel the former marine burrowing holes into the back of his head with narrowed eyes.

Tony doesn't turn around.

He doesn't want to look at them.

Can't stand to look at them.

"Excuse me?"

He'd almost forgotten about Andrew.

He looks down at his reddening knuckles.

Scoffs.

It isn't that hard to hear over the beeping machines.

Everybody heard him.

They just don't want to answer.

"Don't bullshit me. You still have the 'panic' button things don't you? A wire? An earpiece?Something that would have told you, a _ny of you,_ that things were going straight to hell. So answer me this one goddamn question. How long did it take? "

Another beat of silence.

Another sign of nervousness.

Another sign of guilt.

"That's confidential information. We're not at liberty to provide any particulars concerning the case."

Confidential.

Of course Kramer gives him that robotic excuse.

Feed the clown the usual line of bullshit and he'll never question it.

But Tony sees more than he lets on.

He notices the little things that most people often didn't think to consider.

And he remembers them.

So he knows what Kramer is saying is a half truth.

While certain particulars of the case won't ever be revealed for obvious reasons, release of information concerning extraction had never been an issue.

That had never been a thing.

Not when he was the one fulfilling the undercover role.

Not now.

It's a load of bull shit.

Confidential.

Only so they could protect their asses until they came up with another false truth.

"You know what I think. I think she pressed the panic button and I think you waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. Until you got what you needed."

Because he can't fathom how the blonde analyst could get beaten to within an inch of her life, if they'd made an effort to stop things immediately.

Can't fathom how she could even be in this hospital bed, if they'd pulled her out the first goddamn time he laid a hand on her.

He hears Abby shift on her feet.

Hears Andrew awkwardly cough.

Nothing from Gibbs.

Not a word.

"You're out of line, Dinozzo."

He let's out a snort of incredulousness.

"Me? I'm out of line?"

"Dinozzo…"

Oh.

So now he speaks.

Trying to put on that fatherly aura.

Trying to sound sympathetic and understanding.

Like all the times Tony spoke with him in his basement.

With that stupid boat.

It all sounds so fake now.

Sounds like a lie.

He whips to face them.

He can't be a coward.

He can't hide behind false pretenses.

"No Gibbs! I'm out of line? I want to understand how I'm the one out of line!"

Gibbs is steely eyed.

Abby stands behind him like a wounded puppy dog.

Andrew holds a tissue up to his nose as he stifles blood that dribbles from his nose.

"I can see that you're angry."

Angry?

Tony runs a hand through his unruly hair.

He wasn't angry.

He was livid.

And sad.

And disappointed.

And the disdain is dripping off his words.

"You're as much as fault as the they are. Honestly, I'm surprised any of you even came. "

His cynical jab manages to get something out of Abby, who temporarily leaves from Gibbs haven to speak out.

"Of course we came. We care about Bishop, but you don't understand Tony. We needed this information. If she hadn't had gone undercover, then-"

"Abby. Stop. Just stop."

So she knew too.

He would be laughing if it wasn't so harrowing.

It must look different from where they're standing because from over here he's missing the joke.

All he can see from his side is wave after wave of disgusting, incongruous apathy.

"You sent a probationary agent into a fucking hell hole with no partner. No back up. Then refused to pull her out until they put her into a fucking coma. A coma! Are any of you seeing her right now? As a person? Or are you just seeing a means to gain?"

The forensic scientist cringes backwards at his harsh words.

Andrew winces.

His former boss shifts his stoic gaze, ever so slightly, to the side.

Too little too late.

The worst part for him is that they knew…

When Bishop had told him that they were refusing to let her go he had blamed nameless faces.

But they had all known…

His coworkers. His friends.

And they had lied right to his face.

"You were supposed to have our backs. Don't you get it! "

Tony roars.

"It doesn't matter if you weren't there. Or if you were looking from behind a computer screen. Or if it was for the _greater good._ You were supposed to have our backs!"

Quieter this time.

Something flickers behind the grey-haired marine's steely exterior.

Realization.

Tony pretends not to see it.

"This isn't just about her is it?"

The brunette stifles a strangled laugh when he hears his question.

It shouldn't have ever had to be about her.

He wishes this were a one off.

That it was an anomaly.

But with everything…

He clenches his fists at his sides.

Shoves them deeper into his pockets.

"I'm just trying to figure out when you stopped caring."

Tears spring to his eyes when he says those words aloud and he hates himself for it.

Hates himself for crying when he was finally bringing all of his pain to light.

"I always thought it was a chauvinistic thing. That that was the reason you turned a blind eye to their faults. To Jenny's. To Ziva's. To Abby's. Why you rained hell on me. I thought that's what it was. Then you started putting pressure on Bishop and I realized it was something else. It was about power. "

His voice rises with every sentence.

Anger and fury fueling the fire in his words.

"It was about power when you let Director Shepard send me into a death trap. When you let Agent David shove a loaded gun against my chest. When you forced Bishop into overtime. And let Director Vance force us into countless, pointless undercover missions. When you let everyone ignore and criticize and discount me. It wasn't just this case."

It's all he can do to keep from hugging himself.

"It was when you realized that all of your subordinates were overqualified for their jobs. And that can't work in the chain of command"

Tony glares at them through angry tears.

 _The fucking chain of command._

"When I became an agent, I took an oath to protect and serve. But that oath doesn't just apply to the public. It means Bishop! It means me! It applies to us too!"

His chest is heaving with exertion as he finishes.

And he throws an angry glare at all of them.

Hopes it sinks into their souls. Hopes it freezes them.

Because he's done.

Done.

For a moment it is feels like he could hear a pin drop.

They all seem to be in various states of surprise.

Surprised that he had actually stood up for himself.

That he had actually raised his voice.

"Look. I'm not arguing anymore. Not in here. I don't deserve this. She doesn't deserve this. I'm done."

Abby tries again.

Tries one more time.

She sounds so small. So unsure.

"You can't quit Tony… We need you."

He looks away.

Because despite all of this.

He still cares.

Because he knows they're not evil. They're not insane.

They're all genuinely thinking they're doing the right thing.

But Tony can't associate himself with their twisted mindsets.

He can't be looked at like stock. He can't be made to serve their own self-interests.

Can't watch others be made to serve their own self-interests.

"You don't need me. You've never needed me. You needed a scapegoat. A clown. And I'm done being both. I'll hand in my badge and gun to Vance tomorrow morning. "

… … … … … …. …. … ….

Tony stays true to his word.

He always does.

He pauses as he approaches the entrance to his workplace for the last time.

Looks at the shiny letters that spell out _Naval Criminal Investigative Service._

Waits for the wave of nostalgia to hit him.

Waits for the memories to hit.

Waits for the wave of regret to suddenly overcome him.

Nothing comes.

It feels strange.

He remembers approaching these same doors almost a decade ago.

Remembers his excitement.

His eagerness.

He remembers feeling like Bishop.

Ready to work and prove the world.

And now he feels cold.

Ambivalent.

But now that he's holding an empty box in his hands it feels real.

Somehow he can't believe he's actually doing this.

The familiar stifling work place grind hits him forcefully as the automatic doors slide open.

The clinking of coffee cups on the desks, the fluttering of papers, the shuffling of feet, the ringing telephones, the murmuring of voices.

No one spares him a second glance.

Nor does he expect them too.

They had never bothered too before.

When he reaches his designated office station, no one else is there.

Gibbs and McGee are nowhere in sight.

Her desk is still empty.

A pang of indignation stabs at him, but his mind placates the feeling.

His own desk will be empty soon.

Pictures, knickknacks, and office supplies disappear into the wooden box.

One by one erasing his presence.

One by one making it seem like he never there.

"So you're really doing it huh?

A wistful Timothy McGee approaches from behind with two coffees in hand.

"Yeah."

Tim nods.

Not necessarily accepting, more shocked, but understanding.

But it feels good for someone to look at him on the same level for once.

Tim offers him the other coffee.

And as Tony accepts, the computer specialist leans against the older brunette's desk.

"I'm sorry Tony. I didn't know. If I had…"

And Tony finds that he actually believes him.

Another welcome change.

"No. It's okay… I never said."

And neither did they.

He watches Tim stare somberly at his coffee.

"I suppose there isn't anything I can say to change your mind?"

He shakes his head.

Although his current future is unsure, he doesn't plan on ever going back to grovel for his job.

He refuses to give them the satisfaction.

"I thought so."

Tim pauses and awkwardly clears his throat.

"How's Ellie doing? I planned on visiting later today…"

Tony can hear the guilt in his tone.

Can feel the regret that Tim has for not looking harder into the case.

"It's… It's not good."

Tim nods haltingly.

And Tony feels bad for laying it on thick, but there was no way to sugar coat it.

"I have to go. I have to talk with Vance."

"Good luck Tony. I'm sorry. For everything…"

Tony nods as he lifts the box full of his belongings.

"Say hello the family for me, Tim."

And he leaves McGee behind in the place he once called home.

Vance doesn't even look up when he enters his office.

Just continues filling out paper work.

Tony pays no heed.

Instead he pulls out his gun, sets it on the desk.

The ammunition clip follows.

Then his identification card.

And finally his badge.

"You're being selfish, Tony."

He doesn't look back.

… …. … …. … …. …. …

It is five days before the medical staff at Bethesda decide it is safe enough to pull Ellie out of her coma.

And Tony is there for all five of them.

Living off the vending machines.

Watching reruns on the television.

Spending hours in her hospital room until the nurses force him out after visiting hours have ended.

The blonde looks pale and sickly under the fluorescent lights.

Looks so small and fragile in that hospital bed, with the machines looming over her as they press against the corner.

The bruises have begun fade.

Yellowish blotches instead of the angry purples and blues he'd seen that night on that porch.

The scarred, distorted and angry marks that had marred the areas along her shoulders and disappeared under her hospital gown seemed to have tampered down as well.

He doesn't think he'll ever get over the pins in her hands.

Long and black.

Arranged carefully in the braces that hold them steady.

Nerve damage, the doctor had said.

The hands were sensitive.

They could only take so many hits.

And she had taken too many hits.

Too many bone crunching hits.

Over and over again.

The doctor had given her an injection of something that would wake her.

Something with a long complicated name.

Something that the doctor had warned would be gradual.

Warned Tony that he would have to be patient as it took its effects

But Tony has all the patience in the world.

So he waits for her too slowly come around.

A flicker of movement here and there.

A twitch of the fingers.

He's settling in for the long haul when the blonde shakily inhales.

And the monitors let him know she's awake.

Tony freezes.

Doesn't dare move closer, partially because he wants to give her time to acclimate, partially because he doesn't know what to say.

He didn't plan on ever getting this far.

Bishop visibly tenses and her gray eyes flick up to settle on the his blue ones, rapidly deciding whether he was friend or foe.

Nervous, fearful, but mostly tired.

Always tired.

Something inside her must recognize him because she relaxes minutely.

And her eyes flicker away for a moment as she assesses the surroundings of the room.

But he can still see the flurry of emotion rush across her features.

Worry. Fear. Pain. Anguish.

When her eyes find his again, they're filled with tears.

"Did… Did I get it?"

Good God. She's still asking.

Her voice sounds garbled and congested and Tony knows it probably took all of her energy just to get out those words.

His eyes water.

"Yeah… You got it Bishop."

There's a pause as she takes this information in.

As he watches her take this information in.

"I can't… My fingers feel numb."

Tony looks away.

He doesn't want her to see his tears.


	3. Chapter 3

She's too quiet.

And the silence… It unnerves him.

He and Bishop, they were always the loud ones, the talkative ones.

The ones who always filled the silence.

Never the ones who basked in it.

Tony fidgets in the visitor chair across from her.

Wrings his hands together, as the blonde stares down at her own.

He can't unsee the empty and absent minded heaviness in her gaze.

No light, no spark, none of that youthful ambition, thrill of the game, no thrive.

All of that's gone.

Folded delicately beneath this cracked and broken exterior.

He remembers seeing that same look in her eyes that night, _weeks ago,_ on his porch.

And thinks why the fuck didn't _he_ do anything then.

Why the fuck didn't _they_ do anything then.

But it's too late for that kind of thinking.

They only have this present now.

This twisted, quiet present.

It makes sense in an unsettling sort of way.

That maybe the reason she's being so silent is that she's trying understand.

Trying to piece things together like he is.

Trying to comprehend.

So all he can do is wait for the hammer to drop.

Wait for her to ask the inevitable.

Wait for her to ask why, why, why?

Because God knows he's been asking that question for a while now.

And God knows she deserves an explanation.

And he honestly doesn't have any idea how he's going to explain away any of this shit.

So instead, he adds his own silence to the quiet.

Even though his own thoughts are screaming in his mind.

Screaming for him to find away to make this easier.

Ellie hasn't looked back at him since the initial first glance.

Hasn't looked at anyone really.

Not the nurse.

Not the orderly.

Not the doctor when he comes in, steadily and methodically going the through each procedure that was enacted.

Not once does she meet any of their eyes.

And Tony can't decide if it's better this way or not.

If it's actually better that she's lost in her own world.

Or if he's being selfish for prolonging responsibility.

The physician provides more edifying information on her injuries.

The left hand should heal itself in due time.

But there's more extensive nerve damage in her right hand.

More severe than anticipated.

Something that's gonna require weeks of physical therapy.

And as the details emerge, Tony knows her career as a field agent is as good as done.

He watches Bishop.

Waits for a reaction that doesn't come.

For a brief moment he wonders if she's even with them, but then the light catches her eyes at a different angle, and Tony sees the glassy unshed tears.

Sees the painful realization.

But she doesn't voice it.

Instead she's quiet.

Quiet as the physician goes through a planned method of care.

Quiet as the nurse administers more morphine.

Quiet when the hospital staff leaves him floundering alone to find a way to break the silence.

Until hours later, when the dosage of medicine begins to wean off, and she breaks the silence for herself.

"Where…"

His attention snaps into focus as her question trails off.

When she doesn't immediately continue, he instinctively checks the hospital machines.

Making sure this isn't some medical predicament.

But the blonde finds her voice, thick like molasses, and tries again.

"Where is Gibbs?"

And of course she has to start with that.

Because of the very short list of people who have come the visit in the last few days since the argument had not included the silver haired marine.

Only confirming Tony's theory of unfathomable apathy.

But Bishop…

She idolized the man.

Always eager to prove herself to him. Always eager to prove her worth.

She put the special agent in charge on a pedestal so high and never stopped to think for a second, that maybe, he could fall off.

Much like Abby does.

Much like he did.

And look where it put her now.

But the brunette can't bring himself to rip away that fantasy.

Because the most painful and hurtful thing you can do to someone doesn't necessarily involve deception.

The truth always hurts more.

He hesitates for a moment.

And his mouth feels dry and cottony as he scrambles for a lie.

"Uh… He… There's a case"

It's a flimsy excuse.

A pathetic one.

And he can tell from the furrow in her brows, that she doesn't entirely believe it.

But either the pain or the drugs prevent the younger blonde from delving further, because she closes her eyes, shakes her head a bit, and let's it go much faster than he anticipated.

"Oh… Oh… I wanted to ask him something."

Yeah.

It was definitely the morphine.

She's speaking way too slowly and deliberately for it to be anything else.

"Tony…"

He shifts closer.

"Yeah Bishop?"

There's another pause and he watches her expression stitch together as she concentrates.

"You've done this before…You're good at… you're good at this?"

Tony stiffens, ready to protest as she echoes the conversation they had that night on the porch.

He can almost feel the coolness of that chilly night air slicing against him.

Except this time she doesn't sound nervous.

Just despondent.

Like she's separated herself from the current reality.

He runs his hands through his hair and tries to gain control over his emotions.

No crying.

No getting emotional.

"Ellie-"

No one's good at this, he wants to say.

There isn't any possible way to be good at this, he wants to explain.

But she doesn't give him enough time to answer, just keeps on plowing forward like she hadn't heard him at all.

"Tony… There was a click."

Tony says nothing, in the seemingly sudden reversal of conversation.

Not entirely sure what she's talking about.

"A click… There was a click, Tony."

Distress laces her tone, when she realizes he doesn't understand.

"I don't know what you're talking about Bishop."

And he wishes he did.

Wishes he had at least one definitive answer to give her.

"When.. when they had me… on the ground…When he…He…"

Her voice cracks and Tony wants to pull that month of pain away from her.

He'd rather have that agony forced onto him than watch it smother a friend.

"Ellie! We don't need to talk about this now… You need to rest…"

Tony rushes to calm her.

It can't be healthy to go through the grit of it all so soon.

But she isn't having it.

"No… No! There's not supposed to be a click Tony! There's not!"

She let's out a quivering stutter of a breath and grinds her teeth together.

If her hands were cooperating she probably would have been pinching the bridge of her nose.

Instead they curl protectively against her torso.

The vulnerability of her posture mimicking the fragility of her tone.

"They… They hear everything… They're always on the line… They have my back… But when he… There was a click."

And she truly meets his eyes for the first time since her initial wakening.

And it's like she's forgotten it was the height of March and spring was just around the corner.

Her grey eyes had frozen over like the surface of a winter puddle, robbing them of their usual innocence.

The innocence he wants so desperately to bring back.

"There's only a click if they turn it off. Why… Why would they turn it off Tony?"

The question is laden with exhaustion and fear and severely misplaced confusion.

She sounds so small.

She sounds so broken.

And suddenly Tony remembers the click.

Remembers all those years ago when Ziva had filled Bishop's position on the team.

Remembers when she had complained about the noise he'd been making.

Remembers registering the click in his ears when they cut the line.

It sounds like a gunshot now. Echoing in his mind.

And finally everything seems to come into place, the puzzle pieces aligning and realigning, until he's staring at a picture he's seen a million times before.

And now he wishes he'd left Andrew Kramer with much more than a bloody nose.

And that he'd been less lenient with the others.

Tony had been right with his suspicions.

And somehow that doesn't make him feel any better.

"Ellie…"

The former NSA analyst quivers on her bed.

And when he hears the hitch in her breath, Tony knows whatever resolve she has left is about to crumble.

"I must have done something wrong. What did I do wrong…"

She's talking more to herself than she is to him, but he's quick to cut her off.

"You didn't do anything wrong. That was all on them. They fucked it up. And they took advantage of you. You didn't do _anything_ wrong."

… …. … ….

The bureaucratic red tape arrives less than a day after Bishop's woken up.

Two black suits and ties with agendas, briefcases, and questionable motives.

They had probably been waiting for the goddamn phone call like lions waiting for the kill.

The absence of Gibbs, Vance, and even Kramer is painfully noticeable.

Because after that first day no one else seemed to be seriously invested in seeing the outcome.

Only McGee had the human decency to drop in twice between shifts.

It strikes him odd at first, considering that they were the heads of the misconstrued operation.

That even if they didn't care about what happened, they'd at least be concerned about the clean up.

Then he remembers how excusable everything was to them.

Remembers the expendable aspect of their methodologies.

And it doesn't seem strange at all.

He realizes later that the suited men are lawyers.

Both from the Central Intelligence Agency of course.

They want him to sign something.

A confidentiality agreement.

Something that would prevent him from talking about anything he's heard or witnessed about the operation that could potentially compromise the integrity of the organization.

In other words, they're covering their asses.

And now Tony realizes he has to do something.

He can't just phase himself out of this catastrophe.

Can't just assume that once he left everything would smooth over .

It was only ever a matter of time before the bureaucratic red tape arrived.

But now that they're here it would be irresponsible to do nothing.

Turing off the mic by itself was a deliberate breach of protocol.

Even excluding all the callous and cold things in the events that followed.

The mic alone should be the end of it.

But they're already looking for a way to sweep it under the rug.

If the papers that they've just served him meant they haven't already.

And Tony knows they're going for Bishop next in the _debrief._

And he can't be there for that, just like she can't be here for this.

But the term _debrief_ in situations like these had the tendency to be interchangeable with the term _interrogation_.

He's been in his fair share of those.

Because he's pretty sure they're going to talk her into doing something.

Connive her into doing something.

Convince her.

It's how they'd gotten her to go along with this monstrosity of a case to begin with.

But what is he going to do? What can he do?

They have nothing left to take from him.

He quit his job.

His friends, with the exception of McGee, were no longer really friends. Just colleagues.

Former colleagues at that.

He's almost positive Vance has blacklisted him.

They certainly hadn't parted on good terms.

The agreement is pretty cut and dry.

If he doesn't comply with their demands, they could go for his house.

They could go for his freedom.

Could go for anything else under that was covered under the loose umbrella term of legal action.

The edges of the dark inked letters begin to blur when he concentrates on the words for too long.

Tony thinks about what Ziva did to him.

What Jenny did to him.

What Vance and Gibbs had done to him.

What they had done to Bishop.

What their negligence and apathy had the potential to do to others.

He blinks the confidentiality agreement back into focus.

Then he looks them right in the eyes.

Sets the pen on the table.

And refuses to sign it.

… …. … ….

The following days aren't any easier.

Tony alternates between keeping Bishop company, picking at the plastic cafeteria food…

And thinking…

And he thinks so much about the what ifs, that he feels like he's going into some form of shock because of it.

He knows the lawyers are lurking.

And an unreasonable fear begins to creep into his veins as he wonders if what he did was the right decision.

Because he has no leverage now. No power now.

Nothing except his own autonomy.

Just like a civilian.

And that's what he is now.

A disgraced one at that.

The lowest rung in the bureaucratic ladder.

One of the nurses brings him a selection of dog-eared thrillers after it becomes apparent that he's not leaving.

And he reads them aloud to Ellie, complaining and joking about the inaccuracies within the yellow torn pages.

And stalling.

Because he doesn't know if he can handle going back to an empty house alone.

He hopes his silliness distracts his friend from everything.

Hopes it keeps her mind occupied.

Because it helps keeps his own mind on off other things.

And even a ghost of a smile or a hint of an emotion that isn't despondence or regret is an enormous milestone to him.

He's halfway through Sign of Four when he get's the phone call.

It's the job he applied for.

A courtesy call.

The phone call that let's him know that his consideration in the application pool and subsequent interview have been redacted by the company due to particularly scathing letters of recommendation from his most recent employers.

They don't use the word _scathing_ though.

Instead, they use the word _conflicting_.

That's a much safer word.

It leaves much up to interpretation.

Then they wish him luck on his future endeavors.

And when they hang up on the other end, Tony realizes he actually is being blacklisted by his former employers.

Like the cordial relationships formed over the years were insignificant.

Like the bountiful paperwork filed and cases closed as an agent and his role, albeit short, stint as team leader didn't count toward anything.

Like the countless hours he'd put into overtime didn't even matter.

"You quit?"

The battered blonde asks in a whisper of a rasp.

Tony looks over, not realizing she'd been listening.

Figured she'd been too absorbed in her attempt to complete her physical therapy task for today.

"It was a long time coming…"

Something undecipherable glints behind the curtain of despondency in the blonde's eyes.

And almost as quickly it's gone.

… … … …

The food grates slowly against the swollen walls of Tony's throat.

As carefully as he can, he swallows the cooling pasta he had retrieved from the hospital cafeteria.

It tastes like cardboard.

And for a moment he feels like throwing it up, but instead he forces it down.

He needs his energy.

Health issues shouldn't be added to the long list of problems he's dealing with.

"Anthony!"

Tony jumps at the familiar voice.

Twists around far enough in his seat to see a man he'd never thought he'd see within the walls of this hospital.

"Fornell? What are you doing here?"

He stands up to greet the man who's presence often dominated joint task force cases, remembering his manners long enough to give the FBI agent a proper handshake.

"Contrary to popular belief, I actually care about some of the NCIS personnel. Especially one that has helped the department and my family as much as she has. It took awhile for news to get around, but I was due for a visit anyhow."

Tony nods allowing a small smile to grace his tired face.

"You know I was surprised when I heard you were back on the job market Dinozzo. I thought you were as lackey as they came."

The brunette's gut twists in defeat as he forces himself to meet Tobias's' eyes.

"Yeah… Things didn't work out at NCIS."

The older man looks down at him.

Concern lacing his features as he takes the seat across from him.

"What? The old man got too big for his britches?"

The question is light, but the tone is serious.

And somehow Tony finds himself explaining everything that happened in the last few weeks to the man he was once sure hated his guts.

Because he needs to tell someone who can lend a fresh perspective,

Someone who isn't about to fracture into a dozen pieces like Ellie is.

Someone who isn't being pulled in a dozen different directions like Tim.

Tobias Fornell lends him an unyielding ear.

Remaining silent as Tony recounts everything in excruciating detail.

And the more and more he says the more absurd it sounds.

But what is else is he going to do? What is he going to do?

There's a moment of silence when he finishes.

Nothing but the sounds of clinking silverware and quiet murmurs of other hospital occupants and visitors.

And Tony wonders if the man even believes him.

"You need to get a lawyer, Anthony. For her and for you."

His blunt response to Tony's regurgitation of information from the last few days is met with silence and Tobias, aware of this, continues on.

"If anything you've just said is even halfway true… It paints a much bigger picture. Have they spoken with you or Ellie yet?"

The brunette manages to find his voice.

"They wanted me to sign a confidentiality agreement, but I've been dragging my feet on it. And they went through debrief with Bishop, but… I'm not exactly sure what happened there."

The older man nods.

"Good, if you didn't sign the agreement then we can still get ahead of this."

Tony blinks dumbly, not used to having someone jump to his defense so quickly.

"We?"

The grey-haired FBI agent shoots him an incredulous look.

"Yes, we. I help my friends."

Oh…

Oh.

The older man moves to get up.

Undoubtedly headed towards Bishop's hospital room.

"Oh and Tony, if looking for work, my offer still stands. It always has."

… … …

Tobias tells him not to worry about the case.

Tells him that he's got his men on it.

Men from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Men, Fornell insists, that are good at their jobs.

And while they are working, Tobias tells Tony to focus on getting his own life together.

Focus on himself for a bit because all this worrying isn't doing anyone any favors.

That it won't be at a detriment to Bishop if he takes a little time to figure some things out for himself.

Tony eventually assents.

Because even if it looks bleak, he does have to think about his own future.

So he spends the next two weeks splitting the time he has now between the hospital and the outside world.

And it's been a whirlwind of a time.

The brunette eventually accepts Fornell's job offer.

But it doesn't come easy.

Though he's expected to play a part in the Senior Investigative Team, he'll have to go through the entire training process as if he were a probationary agent.

Tony's grateful for it though.

And throws himself into the preparation process.

Studies religiously for the written entrance exam.

Trains just as hard for the physical exam.

Even fine tunes his marksmanship.

Fornell brings him to the bureau a couple of times.

Does this with the idea of giving him a view of the discernible differences of the way things work in the FBI versus the Naval Criminal Investigative Service.

And with purpose of stating his account of events to his men.

He finds himself repeating what he told Tobias three more times to three different people.

It's repetitive, but it's progress.

And progress, Tobias insists, is good.

And in the midst of all of this Ellie is released from the hospital.

Of course, Tony thinks that early of a release is much too soon.

She still gets dizzy sometimes.

She still trails off mid sentence.

Still has to concentrate real hard to pick something up without her hand shaking.

But the doctors are confident these _side effects_ will disappear with time.

It's only a matter of how much time.

And because Bishop's broken bones are wrapped and she's cleared all the medical milestones, she's released from the hospital with three pill bottles and two phone numbers; one for a psychiatrist that 'specializes in these types of situations' the other for a physical therapist exactly twenty two days after she was first admitted.

He is able to read between the lines, knowing there are more people in need of help and not enough hospital beds to house them all, so he reluctantly understands.

Tony drives her to his house because there's no way in hell is he's bringing her back to an empty apartment.

Not in that state.

She's not as quiet as before.

But there's still a discernible difference.

Between what she used to be and who she is now.

And when he carries her bags into his house, she stops and stares at the porch for a solid thirty seconds.

Doesn't move until Tony nudges her along, shaking away the memory of the night he knows she's thinking about.

… …. …

Fornell arrives on his porch steps late into the third day of Ellie's stay at his house.

Wearing his usual black pinstripe suit, a thin beige folder resting in his hands.

The FBI agent hands it over to him without a word.

Something in the somber expression the man holds, tells him he's not going to like what he sees.

Tony swallows hard as he flips through the pages of the folder.

Scrutinizes the pages closely.

And the words practically jump out at him.

His hands grew cold and clammy and his jaws sets, as he understands more and more of the information within the file.

"So that's it? All he gets is three weeks suspension and a three thousand dollar insurance pay out?"

And that's just Gibbs.

Vance only gets a citation.

The case supervisor on the CIA's side isn't even mentioned.

"Tony…"

"No. Goddamnit! She could have died!"

Ellie is sitting in a corner of the big couch in his living room, surrounded by cushions like a feathery fortress.

Staring straight into the middle distance, oblivious to either of their scrutiny.

Legs drawn up tightly against her body and encircled by those matchstick-thin, plaster encased arms that make it painfully obvious how much wear and tear she's been through in the recent weeks.

"But she didn't die, Dinozzo."

Fornell whispers in hushed shout.

But she might as well have.

Their negligence had stripped away her confidence.

Taken her trust.

Buried her innocence.

All but torn apart her career as a field agent.

And left one of the brightest minds in the field a husk of her former self, muddled with so much fear that she can barely hold their eyes for an entire conversation.

They both know this, have seen it with their own eyes.

And the regret and guilt of not being able to do anything more is palpable in his tone.

"He gets his badge back when he goes off the grid. He gets his badge back when he disobeys direct orders. He got his goddamn badge back when he was arrested! What does that say about the department, Fornell? That no matter how demeaning, negligent, and careless you are there's a desk and cushy pension waiting for you at NCIS?"

How many people had to be whipping dogs for anyone to get a clue?

How many people had to get screwed over for things to get taken more seriously?

"I know it doesn't seem fair, but you have to realize it was never going to be looked into fairly. You know how the chain works. It was a joint case with the _Central Intelligence Agency._ They have to power to make almost anything go away, but they couldn't make this go away. You made sure this didn't go away. So Tony, take this as a win."

Take this as a win.

He looks down at the file again.

Looks back toward the living room.

Looks at Fornell.

And wonders why it doesn't feel like he won at all.

(My stories tend to resemble reality, nothing is ever easy and not everyone gets a happy ending.)


End file.
